Again Win waited. And her heart missed a beat, for Mr. Meggison was looking at her as if he had something very special to say.
"Most of the extra people we let go the week after Christmas," he went on slowly. "Even if they're smart, we have enough regular ones without 'em. But perhaps
we can keep you if you make good. And if you want to stay. Do you?"
"Yes, thank you. As far as I can tell now, I should like to stay, if I give satisfaction," Win answered with caution.
"Well, we'll see. It's up to you, anyhow. I told you I was going to test your character. That's why I put you where I did. I knew what you'd be up against. Now the idea is to test you some more."
He paused an instant. This was a catch phrase of his: "the idea is." He often used it. And when he said: "It is my habit," or "My way is," he spoke with the repressed yet bursting pride of the self-made man who has suddenly been raised to a height almost beyond his early dreams.
"I may change you into another department next week," he went on, "where you'll have a better time and less work. What do you say to Gloves?"
Win felt very stupid. "What ought I to say to Gloves?" she inquired helplessly.
Then the great Mr. Meggison actually laughed. "Gee! You are an amateur, Miss Child. Why, the girls all think the Gloves are the pick of the basket. What your London Gaiety is to actresses, that the glove department is to our salesladies. It's called the marriage market. Ladies' and gents' gloves, you understand. Now do you see the point?"
"I suppose I do," Win rather reluctantly confessed, faintly blushing.